East of Eden

by John Steinbeck

  One night Cal ran into Rabbit Holman, who was up from San Ardo on his semi-annual drunk. Rabbit greeted Cal effusively, as a country man always greets an acquaintance in a strange place. Rabbit, drinking from a pint flask in the alley behind the Abbot House, told Cal all the news he could think of. He had sold a piece of his land at a fine price and he was in Salinas to celebrate, and celebration meant the whole shebang. He was going down the Line and show the whores what a real man could do.

  Cal sat quietly beside him, listening. When the whisky got low in Rabbit's pint Cal slipped away and got Louis Schneider to buy him another one. And Rabbit put down his empty pint and reached for it again and came up with a full pint.

  "Funny," he said, "thought I only had one. Well, it's a good mistake."

  Halfway down the second pint Rabbit had not only forgotten who Cal was but how old he was. He remembered, however, that his companion was his very dear old friend.

  "Tell you what, George," he said. "You let me get a little more of this here lead in my pencil and you and me will go down the Line. Now don't say you can't afford it. The whole shebang's on me. Did I tell you I sold forty acres? Wasn't no good neither."

  And he said, "Harry, tell you what let's do. Let's keep away from them two-bit whores. We'll go to Kate's place. Costs high, ten bucks, but what the hell! They got a circus down there. Ever seen a circus, Harry? Well, it's a lulu. Kate sure knows her stuff. You remember who Kate is, don't you, George? She's Adam Trask's wife, mother of them damn twins. Jesus! I never forget the time she shot him and ran away. Plugged him in the shoulder and just runoff. Well, she wasn't no good as a wife but she's sure as hell a good whore. Funny too--you know how they say a whore makes a good wife? Ain't nothing new for them to experiment with. Help me up a little, will you, Harry? What was I saying?"

  "Circus," said Cal softly.

  "Oh, yeah. Well, this circus of Kate's will pop your eyes out. Know what they do?"

  Cal walked a little behind so that Rabbit would not notice him. Rabbit told what they did. And what they did wasn't what made Cal sick. That just seemed to him silly. It was the men who watched. Seeing Rabbit's face under the streetlights, Cal knew what the watchers at the circus would be like.

  They went through the overgrown yard and up on the unpainted porch. Although Cal was tall for his age he walked high on his toes. The guardian of the door didn't look at him very closely. The dim room with its low secret lamps and the nervous waiting men concealed his presence.

  3

  Always before, Cal wanted to build a dark accumulation of things seen and things heard--a kind of a warehouse of materials that, like obscure tools, might come in handy, but after the visit to Kate's he felt a desperate need for help.

  One night Lee, tapping away at his typewriter, heard a quiet knock on his door and let Cal in. The boy sat down on the edge of the bed, and Lee let his thin body down in the Morris chair. He was amused that a chair could give him so much pleasure. Lee folded his hands over his stomach as though he wore Chinese sleeves and waited patiently. Cal was looking at a spot in the air right over Lee's head.

  Cal spoke softly and rapidly. "I know where my mother is and what she's doing. I saw her."

  Lee's mind said a convulsive prayer for guidance. "What do you want to know?" he asked softly.

  "I haven't thought yet. I'm trying to think. Would you tell me the truth?"

  "Of course."

  The questions whirling in Cal's head were so bewildering he had trouble picking one out. "Does my father know?"

  "Yes."

  "Why did he say she was dead?"

  "To save you from pain."

  Cal considered. "What did my father do to make her leave?"

  "He loved her with his whole mind and body. He gave her everything he could imagine."

  "Did she shoot him?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because he didn't want her to go away."

  "Did he ever hurt her?"

  "Not that I know of. It wasn't in him to hurt her."

  "Lee, why did she do it?"

  "I don't know."

  "Don't know or won't say?"

  "Don't know."

  Cal was silent for so long that Lee's fingers began to creep a little, holding to his wrists. He was relieved when Cal spoke again. The boy's tone was different. There was a pleading in it.

  "Lee, you knew her. What was she like?"

  Lee sighed and his hands relaxed. "I can only say what I think. I may be wrong."

  "Well, what did you think?"

  "Cal," he said, "I've thought about it for a great many hours and I still don't know. She is a mystery. It seems to me that she is not like other people. There is something she lacks. Kindness maybe, or conscience. You can only understand people if you feel them in yourself. And I can't feel her. The moment I think about her my feeling goes into darkness. I don't know what she wanted or what she was after. She was full of hatred, but why or toward what I don't know. It's a mystery. And her hatred wasn't healthy. It wasn't angry. It was heartless. I don't know that it is good to talk to you like this."

  "I need to know."

  "Why? Didn't you feel better before you knew?"

  "Yes. But I can't stop now."

  "You're right," said Lee. "When the first innocence goes, you can't stop--unless you're a hypocrite or a fool. But I can't tell you any more because I don't know any more.

  Cal said, "Tell me about my father then."

  "That I can do," said Lee. He paused. "I wonder if anyone can hear us talking? Speak softly."

  "Tell me about him," said Cal.

  "I think your father has in him, magnified, the things his wife lacks. I think in him kindness and conscience are so large that they are almost faults. They trip him up and hinder him."

  "What did he do when she left?"

  "He died," said Lee. "He walked around but he was dead. And only recently has he come half to life again." Lee saw a strange new expression on Cal's face. The eyes were open wider, and the mouth, ordinarily tight and muscular, was relaxed. In his face, now for the first time, Lee could see Aron's face in spite of the different coloring. Cal's shoulders were shaking a little, like a muscle too long held under a strain.

  "What is it, Cal?" Lee asked.

  "I love him," Cal said.

  "I love him too," said Lee. "I guess I couldn't have stayed around so long if I hadn't. He is not smart in a worldly sense but he's a good man. Maybe the best man I have ever known."

  Cal stood up suddenly. "Good night, Lee," he said.

  "Now you wait just a moment. Have you told anyone?"

  "No."

  "Not Aron--no, of course you wouldn't."

  "Suppose he finds out?"

  "Then you'd have to stand by to help him. Don't go yet. When you leave this room we may not be able to talk again. You may dislike me for knowing you know the truth. Tell me this--do you hate your mother?"

  "Yes," said Cal.

  "I wondered," said Lee. "I don't think your father ever hated her. He had only sorrow."

  Cal drifted toward the door, slowly, softly. He shoved his fists deep in his pockets. "It's like you said about knowing people. I hate her because I know why she went away. I know--because I've got her in me." His head was down and his voice was heartbroken.

  Lee jumped up. "You stop that!" he said sharply. "You hear me? Don't let me catch you doing that. Of course you may have that in you. Everybody has. But you've got the other too. Here--look up! Look at me!"

  Cal raised his head and said wearily, "What do you want?"

  "You've got the other too. Listen to me! You wouldn't even be wondering if you didn't have it. Don't you dare take the lazy way. It's too easy to excuse yourself because of your ancestry. Don't let me catch you doing it! Now--look close at me so you will remember. Whatever you do, it will be you who do it--not your mother."

  "Do you believe that, Lee?"

  "Yes, I believe it, and you'd better believe it or I'll break every bone
in your body."

  After Cal had gone Lee went back to his chair. He thought ruefully, I wonder what happened to my Oriental repose?

  4

  Cal's discovery of his mother was more a verification than a new thing to him. For a long time he had known without details that the cloud was there. And his reaction was twofold. He had an almost pleasant sense of power in knowing, and he could evaluate actions and expressions, could interpret vague references, could even dip up and reorganize the past. But these did not compensate for the pain in his knowledge.

  His body was rearranging itself toward manhood, and he was shaken by the veering winds of adolescence. One moment he was dedicated and pure and devoted; the next he wallowed in filth; and the next he groveled in shame and emerged rededicated.

  His discovery sharpened all of his emotions. It seemed to him that he was unique, having such a heritage. He could not quite believe Lee's words or conceive that other boys were going through the same thing.

  The circus at Kate's remained with him. At one moment the memory inflamed his mind and body with pubescent fire, and the next moment nauseated him with revulsion and loathing.

  He looked at his father more closely and saw perhaps more sadness and frustration in Adam than may have been there. And in Cal there grew up a passionate love for his father and a wish to protect him and to make it up to him for the things he had suffered. In Cal's own sensitized mind that suffering was unbearable. He blundered into the bathroom while Adam was bathing and saw the ugly bullet scar and heard himself ask against his will, "Father, what's that scar?"

  Adam's fingers went up as though to conceal the scar. He said, "It's an old wound, Cal. I was in the Indian campaigns. I'll tell you about it some time."

  Cal, watching Adam's face, had seen his mind leap into the past for a lie. Cal didn't hate the lie but the necessity for telling it. Cal lied for reasons of profit of one kind or another. To be driven to a lie seemed shameful to him. He wanted to shout, "I know how you got it and it's all right." But, of course, he did not. "I'd like to hear about it," he said.

  Aron was caught in the roil of change too, but his impulses were more sluggish than Cal's. His body did not scream at him so shrilly. His passions took a religious direction. He decided on the ministry for his future. He attended all services in the Episcopal church, helped with the flowers and leaves at feast times, and spent many hours with the young and curly-haired clergyman, Mr. Rolf. Aron's training in worldliness was gained from a young man of no experience, which gave him the agility for generalization only the inexperienced can have.

  Aron was confirmed in the Episcopal church and took his place in the choir on Sundays. Abra followed him. Her feminine mind knew that such things were necessary but unimportant.

  It was natural that the convert Aron should work on Cal. First Aron prayed silently for Cal, but finally he approached him. He denounced Cal's godlessness, demanded his reformation.

  Cal might have tried to go along if his brother had been more clever. But Aron had reached a point of passionate purity that made everyone else foul. After a few lectures Cal found him unbearably smug and told him so. It was a relief to both of them when Aron abandoned his brother to eternal damnation.

  Aron's religion inevitably took a sexual turn. He spoke to Abra of the necessity for abstinence and decided that he would live a life of celibacy. Abra in her wisdom agreed with him, feeling and hoping that this phase would pass. Celibacy was the only state she had known. She wanted to marry Aron and bear any number of his children, but for the time being she did not speak of it. She had never been jealous before, but now she began to find in herself an instinctive and perhaps justified hatred of the Reverend Mr. Rolf.

  Cal watched his brother triumph over sins he had never committed. He thought sardonically of telling him about his mother, to see how he would handle it, but he withdrew the thought quickly. He didn't think Aron could handle it at all.

  Chapter 39

  1

  At intervals Salinas suffered from a mild eructation of morality. The process never varied much. One burst was like another. Sometimes it started in the pulpit and sometimes with a new ambitious president of the Women's Civic Club. Gambling was invariably the sin to be eradicated. There were certain advantages in attacking gambling. One could discuss it, which was not true of prostitution. It was an obvious evil and most of the games were operated by Chinese. There was little chance of treading on the toes of a relative.

  From church and club the town's two newspapers caught fire. Editorials demanded a clean-up. The police agreed but pleaded short-handedness and tried for increased budget and sometimes succeeded.

  When it got to the editorial stage everyone knew the cards were down. What followed was as carefully produced as a ballet. The police got ready, the gambling houses got ready, and the papers set up congratulatory editorials in advance. Then came the raid, deliberate and sure. Twenty or more Chinese, imported from Pajaro, a few bums, six or eight drummers, who, being strangers, were not warned, fell into the police net, were booked, jailed, and in the morning fined and released. The town relaxed in its new spotlessness and the houses lost only one night of business plus the fines. It is one of the triumphs of the human that he can know a thing and still not believe it.

  In the fall of 1916 Cal was watching the fan-tan game at Shorty Lim's one night when the raid scooped him up. In the dark no one noticed him, and the chief was embarrassed to find him in the tank in the morning. The chief telephoned Adam, got him up from his breakfast. Adam walked the two blocks to the City Hall, picked up Cal, crossed the street to the post office for his mail, and then the two walked home.

  Lee had kept Adam's eggs warm and had fried two for Cal.

  Aron walked through the dining room on his way to school. "Want me to wait for you?" he asked Cal.

  "No," said Cal. He kept his eyes down and ate his eggs.

  Adam had not spoken except to say, "Come along!" at the City Hall after he had thanked the Chief.

  Cal gulped down a breakfast he did not want, darting glances up through his eyelashes at his father's face. He could make nothing of Adam's expression. It seemed at once puzzled and angry and thoughtful and sad.

  Adam stared down into his coffee cup. The silence grew until it had the weight of age so hard to lift aside.

  Lee looked in. "Coffee?" he asked.

  Adam shook his head slowly. Lee withdrew and this time closed the kitchen door.

  In the clock-ticking silence Cal began to be afraid. He felt a strength flowing out of his father he had never known was there. Itching prickles of agony ran up his legs, and he was afraid to move to restore the circulation. He knocked his fork against his plate to make a noise and the clatter was swallowed up. The clock struck nine deliberate strokes and they were swallowed up.

  As the fear began to chill, resentment took its place. So might a trapped fox feel anger at the paw which held him to the trap.

  Suddenly Cal jumped up. He hadn't known he was going to move. He shouted and he hadn't known he was going to speak. He cried, "Do what you're going to do to me! Go ahead! Get it over!"

  And his shout was sucked into the silence.

  Adam slowly raised his head. It is true that Cal had never looked into his father's eyes before, and it is true that many people never look into their father's eyes. Adam's irises were light blue with dark radial lines leading into the vortices of his pupils. And deep down in each pupil Cal saw his own face reflected, as though two Cals looked out at him.

  Adam said slowly, "I've failed you, haven't I?"

  It was worse than an attack. Cal faltered, "What do you mean?"

  "You were picked up in a gambling house. I don't know how you got there, what you were doing there, why you went there."

  Cal sat limply down and looked at his plate.

  "Do you gamble, son?"

  "No, sir. I was just watching."

  "Had you been there before?"

  "Yes, sir. Many times."

 
; "Why do you go?"

  "I don't know. I get restless at night--like an alley cat, I guess." The thought of Kate and his weak joke seemed horrible to him. "When I can't sleep I walk around," he said, "to try to blot it out."

  Adam considered his words, inspected each one. "Does your brother walk around too?"

  "Oh, no, sir. He wouldn't think of it. He's--he's not restless."

  "You see, I don't know," said Adam. "I don't know anything about you."

  Cal wanted to throw his arms about his father, to hug him and to be hugged by him. He wanted some wild demonstration of sympathy and love. He picked up his wooden napkin ring and thrust his forefinger through it. "I'd tell you if you asked," he said softly.

  "I didn't ask. I didn't ask! I'm as bad a father as my father was."

  Cal had never heard this tone in Adam's voice. It was hoarse and breaking with warmth and he fumbled among his words, feeling for them in the dark.

  "My father made a mold and forced me into it," Adam said. "I was a bad casting but I couldn't be remelted. Nobody can be remelted. And so I remained a bad casting."

  Cal said, "Sir, don't be sorry. You've had too much of that."

  "Have I? Maybe--but maybe the wrong kind. I don't know my sons. I wonder whether I could learn."

  "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just ask me."

  "Where would I start? Right at the beginning?"

  "Are you sad or mad because I was in jail?"

  To Cal's surprise Adam laughed. "You were just there, weren't you? You didn't do anything wrong."

  "Maybe being there was wrong." Cal wanted a blame for himself.

  "One time I was just there," said Adam. "I was a prisoner for nearly a year for just being there."

  Cal tried to absorb this heresy. "I don't believe it," he said.

  "Sometimes I don't either, but I know that when I escaped I robbed a store and stole some clothes."

  "I don't believe it," Cal said weakly, but the warmth, the closeness, was so delicious that he clung to it. He breathed shallowly so that the warmth might not be disturbed.